Memory 2 Week 7

I don't remember the first time I met her, my future stepmother.
But I tried to keep an open mind, I'm sure.
Because on the last day of Thanksgiving break,
when you asked mom if we'd travel with you to Montana,
we said no.

Part of me already knew, when I received a candle
and perfume in September, you were dating.
I just wanted to be part of it.
My sister, mad you lied, didn't.

I just want to talk, half the time.
More awkward than that one legged duck
in the pond outside my house, or Grandma on a scooter,
I remember just talking about nothing. I think she smiled.
I think we talked about school, hobbies, and what I was going to do
after graduation. That's all we still talk about.

That summer, my sister, mad I didn't stand up and argue
about where you were going and why, resented me.
I can't confront, not face to face.

But now, snide comments and a blackout later,
I'm forgetting things. Forgetting what I said, what I meant,
what I want to say. Forgetting how to be mad, how to hate,
but I'm learning what it means to be a good sister, and sometimes,
it means being a bad daughter.